Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/47

Rh Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,

Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,

Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,

Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny

That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh

Could I to thee be ever more than friend:

This much, dear Maid, accord; nor question why

To one so young my strain I would commend,

But bid me with my wreath one matchless Lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined;

And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast

On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined

Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:

My days once numbered—should this homage past

Attract thy fairy fingers near the Lyre